THE PITCH OF THE CAPE.
Ere the calm had yet left us, a sail had been discerned from the
fore-top-mast-head, at a great distance, probably three leagues or
more. At first it was a mere speck, altogether out of sight from the
deck. By the force of attraction, or something else equally
inscrutable, two ships in a calm, and equally affected by the currents,
will always approximate, more or less. Though there was not a breath of
wind, it was not a great while before the strange sail was descried
from our bulwarks; gradually, it drew still nearer.
What was she, and whence? There is no object which so excites interest
and conjecture, and, at the same time, baffles both, as a sail, seen as
a mere speck on these remote seas off Cape Horn. A breeze! a breeze!
for lo! the stranger is now perceptibly nearing the frigate; the
officer’s spy-glass pronounces her a full-rigged ship, with all sail
set, and coming right down to us, though in our own vicinity the calm
still reigns.
She is bringing the wind with her. Hurrah! Ay, there it is! Behold how
mincingly it creeps over the sea, just ruffling and crisping it.
Our top-men were at once sent aloft to loose the sails, and presently
they faintly began to distend. As yet we hardly had steerage-way.
Toward sunset the stranger bore down before the wind, a complete
pyramid of canvas. Never before, I venture to say, was Cape Horn so
audaciously insulted. Stun’-sails alow and aloft; royals, moon-sails,
and everything else. She glided under our stern, within hailing
distance, and the signal-quarter-master ran up our ensign to the gaff.
“Ship ahoy!” cried the Lieutenant of the Watch, through his trumpet.
“Halloa!” bawled an old fellow in a green jacket, clap-ping one hand to
his mouth, while he held on with the other to the mizzen-shrouds.
“What ship’s that?”
“The Sultan, Indiaman, from New York, and bound to Callao and Canton,
sixty days out, all well. What frigate’s that?”
“The United States ship Neversink, homeward bound.” “Hurrah! hurrah!
hurrah!” yelled our enthusiastic countryman, transported with
patriotism.
By this time the Sultan had swept past, but the Lieutenant of the Watch
could not withhold a parting admonition.
“D’ye hear? You’d better take in some of your flying-kites there. Look
out for Cape Horn!”
But the friendly advice was lost in the now increasing wind. With a
suddenness by no means unusual in these latitudes, the light breeze
soon became a succession of sharp squalls, and our sail-proud
braggadacio of an India-man was observed to let everything go by the
run, his t’-gallant stun’-sails and flying-jib taking quick leave of
the spars; the flying-jib was swept into the air, rolled together for a
few minutes, and tossed about in the squalls like a foot-ball. But the
wind played no such pranks with the more prudently managed canvas of
the Neversink, though before many hours it was stirring times with us.
About midnight, when the starboard watch, to which, I belonged, was
below, the boatswain’s whistle was heard, followed by the shrill cry of
“_All hands take in sail_! jump, men, and save ship!”
Springing from our hammocks, we found the frigate leaning over to it so
steeply, that it was with difficulty we could climb the ladders leading
to the upper deck.
Here the scene was awful. The vessel seemed to be sailing on her side.
The main-deck guns had several days previous been run in and housed,
and the port-holes closed, but the lee carronades on the quarter-deck
and forecastle were plunging through the sea, which undulated over them
in milk-white billows of foam. With every lurch to leeward the
yard-arm-ends seemed to dip in the sea, while forward the spray dashed
over the bows in cataracts, and drenched the men who were on the
fore-yard. By this time the deck was alive with the whole strength of
the ship’s company, five hundred men, officers and all, mostly clinging
to the weather bulwarks. The occasional phosphorescence of the yeasting
sea cast a glare upon their uplifted faces, as a night fire in a
populous city lights up the panic-stricken crowd.
In a sudden gale, or when a large quantity of sail is suddenly to be
furled, it is the custom for the First Lieutenant to take the trumpet
from whoever happens then to be officer of the deck. But Mad Jack had
the trumpet that watch; nor did the First Lieutenant now seek to wrest
it from his hands. Every eye was upon him, as if we had chosen him from
among us all, to decide this battle with the elements, by single combat
with the spirit of the Cape; for Mad Jack was the saving genius of the
ship, and so proved himself that night. I owe this right hand, that is
this moment flying over my sheet, and all my present being to Mad Jack.
The ship’s bows were now butting, battering, ramming, and thundering
over and upon the head seas, and with a horrible wallowing sound our
whole hull was rolling in the trough of the foam. The gale came athwart
the deck, and every sail seemed bursting with its wild breath.
All the quarter-masters, and several of the forecastle-men, were
swarming round the double-wheel on the quarter-deck. Some jumping up
and down, with their hands upon the spokes; for the whole helm and
galvanised keel were fiercely feverish, with the life imparted to them
by the tempest.
“Hard _up_ the helm!” shouted Captain Claret, bursting from his cabin
like a ghost in his night-dress.
“Damn you!” raged Mad Jack to the quarter-masters; “hard down—hard
_down_, I say, and be damned to you!”
Contrary orders! but Mad Jack’s were obeyed. His object was to throw
the ship into the wind, so as the better to admit of close-reefing the
top-sails. But though the halyards were let go, it was impossible to
clew down the yards, owing to the enormous horizontal strain on the
canvas. It now blew a hurricane. The spray flew over the ship in
floods. The gigantic masts seemed about to snap under the world-wide
strain of the three entire top-sails.
“Clew down! clew down!” shouted Mad Jack, husky with excitement, and in
a frenzy, beating his trumpet against one of the shrouds. But, owing to
the slant of the ship, the thing could not be done. It was obvious that
before many minutes something must go—either sails, rigging, or sticks;
perhaps the hull itself, and all hands.
Presently a voice from the top exclaimed that there was a rent in the
main-top-sail. And instantly we heard a report like two or three
muskets discharged together; the vast sail was rent up and down like
the Vail of the Temple. This saved the main-mast; for the yard was now
clewed down with comparative ease, and the top-men laid out to stow the
shattered canvas. Soon, the two remaining top-sails were also clewed
down and close reefed.
Above all the roar of the tempest and the shouts of the crew, was heard
the dismal tolling of the ship’s bell—almost as large as that of a
village church—which the violent rolling of the ship was occasioning.
Imagination cannot conceive the horror of such a sound in a
night-tempest at sea.
“Stop that ghost!” roared Mad Jack; “away, one of you, and wrench off
the clapper!”
But no sooner was this ghost gagged, than a still more appalling sound
was heard, the rolling to and fro of the heavy shot, which, on the
gun-deck, had broken loose from the gun-racks, and converted that part
of the ship into an immense bowling-alley. Some hands were sent down to
secure them; but it was as much as their lives were worth. Several were
maimed; and the midshipmen who were ordered to see the duty performed
reported it impossible, until the storm abated.
The most terrific job of all was to furl the main-sail, which, at the
commencement of the squalls, had been clewed up, coaxed and quieted as
much as possible with the bunt-lines and slab-lines. Mad Jack waited
some time for a lull, ere he gave an order so perilous to be executed.
For to furl this enormous sail, in such a gale, required at least fifty
men on the yard; whose weight, superadded to that of the ponderous
stick itself, still further jeopardised their lives. But there was no
prospect of a cessation of the gale, and the order was at last given.
At this time a hurricane of slanting sleet and hail was descending upon
us; the rigging was coated with a thin glare of ice, formed within the
hour.
“Aloft, main-yard-men! and all you main-top-men! and furl the
main-sail!” cried Mad Jack.
I dashed down my hat, slipped out of my quilted jacket in an instant,
kicked the shoes from my feet, and, with a crowd of others, sprang for
the rigging. Above the bulwarks (which in a frigate are so high as to
afford much protection to those on deck) the gale was horrible. The
sheer force of the wind flattened us to the rigging as we ascended, and
every hand seemed congealing to the icy shrouds by which we held.
“Up—up, my brave hearties!” shouted Mad Jack; and up we got, some way
or other, all of us, and groped our way out on the yard-arms.
“Hold on, every mother’s son!” cried an old quarter-gunner at my side.
He was bawling at the top of his compass; but in the gale, he seemed to
be whispering; and I only heard him from his being right to windward of
me.
But his hint was unnecessary; I dug my nails into the _jack-stays_, and
swore that nothing but death should part me and them until I was able
to turn round and look to windward. As yet, this was impossible; I
could scarcely hear the man to leeward at my elbow; the wind seemed to
snatch the words from his mouth and fly away with them to the South
Pole.
All this while the sail itself was flying about, sometimes catching
over our heads, and threatening to tear us from the yard in spite of
all our hugging. For about three quarters of an hour we thus hung
suspended right over the rampant billows, which curled their very
crests under the feet of some four or five of us clinging to the
lee-yard-arm, as if to float us from our place.
Presently, the word passed along the yard from wind-ward, that we were
ordered to come down and leave the sail to blow, since it could not be
furled. A midshipman, it seemed, had been sent up by the officer of the
deck to give the order, as no trumpet could be heard where we were.
Those on the weather yard-arm managed to crawl upon the spar and
scramble down the rigging; but with us, upon the extreme leeward side,
this feat was out of the question; it was, literary, like climbing a
precipice to get to wind-ward in order to reach the shrouds: besides,
the entire yard was now encased in ice, and our hands and feet were so
numb that we dared not trust our lives to them. Nevertheless, by
assisting each other, we contrived to throw ourselves prostrate along
the yard, and embrace it with our arms and legs. In this position, the
stun’-sail-booms greatly assisted in securing our hold. Strange as it
may appear, I do not suppose that, at this moment, the slightest
sensation of fear was felt by one man on that yard. We clung to it with
might and main; but this was instinct. The truth is, that, in
circumstances like these, the sense of fear is annihilated in the
unutterable sights that fill all the eye, and the sounds that fill all
the ear. You become identified with the tempest; your insignificance is
lost in the riot of the stormy universe around.
Below us, our noble frigate seemed thrice its real length—a vast black
wedge, opposing its widest end to the combined fury of the sea and
wind.
At length the first fury of the gale began to abate, and we at once
fell to pounding our hands, as a preliminary operation to going to
work; for a gang of men had now ascended to help secure what was left
of the sail; we somehow packed it away, at last, and came down.
About noon the next day, the gale so moderated that we shook two reefs
out of the top-sails, set new courses, and stood due east, with the
wind astern.
Thus, all the fine weather we encountered after first weighing anchor
on the pleasant Spanish coast, was but the prelude to this one terrific
night; more especially, that treacherous calm immediately preceding it.
But how could we reach our long-promised homes without encountering
Cape Horn? by what possibility avoid it? And though some ships have
weathered it without these perils, yet by far the greater part must
encounter them. Lucky it is that it comes about midway in the
homeward-bound passage, so that the sailors have time to prepare for
it, and time to recover from it after it is astern.
But, sailor or landsman, there is some sort of a Cape Horn for all.
Boys! beware of it; prepare for it in time. Gray-beards! thank God it
is passed. And ye lucky livers, to whom, by some rare fatality, your
Cape Horns are placid as Lake Lemans, flatter not yourselves that good
luck is judgment and discretion; for all the yolk in your eggs, you
might have foundered and gone down, had the Spirit of the Cape said the
word.